The Hair
by Zayz
Summary: Lily Evans dyes her hair brown and everyone has a theory about it...well, everyone meaning her friend Alice and, of course, James Potter. Let the annoying psychoanalysis begin. R&R?


**A/N**: I've been sitting on this idea for a really long time now, but I could never figure out how to get it to play out. Now I have. Exciting, isn't it?

This takes place probably around Year 4 or 5. That makes the most sense – to me, at least. But then again, I'm insane, so you can make up your own mind since I didn't particularly have a timeline in mind.

Enjoy.

--

**The Hair  
****By: Zayz**

--

"You are bloody mad, Lily."

Alice has stated this many times by now – twenty three so far this evening and still counting – but I ignore her. I continue stirring my cauldron on the floor, working hard not to lose track of how many times I'm supposed to go around clockwise. Alice sighs, impatient, as she observes my progress from my bed.

"This isn't going to do a thing – I hope you know that," she continues. "There's absolutely no reason to color your hair brown."

"I just want a _change_," I attempt to explain for the twenty fourth time now. "I mean, the same red look is boring! I want to mix things up a bit. Last I checked, I wasn't about to go through a hearing for it."

"Your hair is lovely," Alice insists. "You're bloody mad not to want it."

"Yes, we have already established that I am bloody mad – any other adjectives you want to tack on to that list before I do this anyway?" I inquire. Alice rolls her eyes.

"You're being a baby," she says. "You're mulish, snappy, and purposefully dense. Your self-blindness is mind-blowing. I don't understand you and I never will."

I shrug, finishing stirring and grabbing the bag of lacewing flies from beside me. "Thanks for the enlightenment."

Alice throws me a filthy look. "I'm serious," she says. "What brought on this sudden desire for change?"

"Do I need a reason to want something a little different?"

She considers. "Well…sort of, wouldn't you say?"

"No." The lacewing flies are dumped in and the potion hisses at me, turning exactly the shade of orange my open Potions book says it should be.

Alice, now sufficiently frustrated, gets up off the bed and joins me on the floor by my cauldron. I'm supposed to let the mixture simmer for six minutes, so I have no choice but to turn my attention to my friend, who is evidently bursting to say something or another. She enjoys being my personal psychoanalyst during times like these. Apparently, there has to be an ulterior motive for pretty much everything I do.

"Lils, this isn't by any chance related to the row you had with James Potter last week, is it?" she wants to know.

No, scratch that. Apparently, there's an ulterior motive for everything I do somehow regarding James Potter.

"Yes, of course, Alice – how did you know?" I ask. "And there I was trying to be subtle…"

She allows a slight smile to adorn her lips, but not much more than that. "Honestly, Lily," she begins.

"Yes, _honestly_, Alice, there is more to my life than James Potter," I cut her off. "Perhaps you forget that, when you so eagerly compare me to bloody Cinderella or whichever fairytale you favor this week."

Alice smirks. "I'm sorry if you're _still _in denial about this whole thing, Lily," she says. "I'm being such a good friend, enlightening you and being your conscience when your real one fails epically at keeping you under control – and then you mock me! Many would call that ungrateful, bratty behavior."

"All hail Lily Evans, the newly-brunette ungrateful brat," I remark, stirring my creation and beaming up at her.

This time, Alice knows better than to judge my behavior when I am so single-mindedly against her line of reasoning. She instead chooses to glance nervously at my potion. "Lils, are you really sure you want to do this?"

I make sure she and I are looking each other straight in the eye when I say very seriously, "Yes, I am."

I scoop up some potion in my cup and raise the glass towards her. "Cheers," I say. "Bottoms up."

And I take a big, long sip, leaving Alice only to sigh, watching me swallow.

--

The hair potion works.

I do not burn all my hair off or melt my skull – which is definitely a good thing. And, even if I do say so myself, I think I look rather nice with brown hair. The color is maturing for my face and boosts me several notches closer to sophistication. My old red hair made me look very young – and right now, I want to be everything but that.

In the morning, the girls in the dormitory are the first to get a taste of my new hair. They're genuinely complimentary when they tell me they love it. Alice even admits it looks quite pretty, although she holds onto her opinion that this, too, is a sure-fire sign that James Potter is finally getting to me. I happily disregard her as I bask in the good wishes on my new hair.

Now I suppose I know why James liked the limelight so much when we were kids – when it's not about some embarrassing accident or another, it's rather nice to be the subject of so much attention. Alice is mightily impressed by it.

"Wow, Lils, this is…unexpected," she says. "Mad as you are, I can't deny that this is going quite well for you so far."

"I told you so," I respond, smug, as I flip my newly-brown hair back over my shoulder. "Brown hair is good. It's a change, you know? I might just keep this permanently."

"Don't say that yet," Alice says. "Brown looks wonderful on you, I won't lie, but you're going to miss the red. It might take a while, but you will."

"My red hair won me all sorts of redhead jokes," I tell her. "They're irritating. People kept saying it was the reason why I was so obnoxious sometimes – completely disregarding, of course, that maybe it was just _them _that did that to me. No one says such things about brunettes. As far as I've heard, brunettes are the smart girls."

"That's a little childish, don't you think?" Alice arches an eyebrow.

I shrug. "Maybe. But it's not my only reason, so I'm all right. This color suits me and I want to keep it. I'm not being entirely irrational."

"Yeah…you're only being a _little_ irrational." Alice's smile is gentle. "But okay…I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. You have officially become a brunette. I can't say much about it."

"You can't," I agree.

"Still…" She gazes at me, her expression dangerously thoughtful. "You know, to really make sure this hair looks great on you, I think we ought to test it out."

"In case you missed it, I already took care of that," I say, gesticulating at my colored hair. Alice rolls her eyes.

"No, no, no," she says impatiently. "I mean, we need to see what James Potter thinks."

"And what will that accomplish?" Already, I'm beginning to feel nauseous; I mentally slap myself for not having seen this one coming.

"He fancies you," Alice says as if I don't know this already. "I want to find out what he'll say about his favorite redhead changing something as important as her _hair_."

I sigh. I really ought to have seen this coming.

"He'll see me now when we go into breakfast," I say, glancing at the Great Hall to our left as we come down the main staircase, stopping at the end to finish this irksome conversation. "You can get your test results right away."

"I think it's worth a shot," Alice reasons. "I mean, you _did _change your hair because of him."

"Didn't we already have this conversation last night?" I want to know as we go in and find seats.

"We did, but I wanted to remind you, since you probably weren't listening the first time anyway," she clarifies.

"All right then, go on, what was the _real _reason I changed my hair?" I ask, making sure to sound fatally bored.

"Because you want to distance yourself from the person everything thinks you are," she explains, so suddenly and simply that it actually takes me off-guard. "We've always known you as a redhead – that was like your _thing_. Well, after this latest spat you had last week with James Potter, you got tired of being you and having him after your arse all the time. So, to get him away from you, you took away something that made you special in his eyes – you took away your red hair."

My sigh this time is heavier than my last. We stop at the doorway of the Hall, me pouting and rumpling my (brown!) hair and generally in a lower mood than I was when I woke up this morning. The expression on her face is exultant because she thinks she's right. The expression on mine is significantly darker because nothing I say will convince her she's wrong. Still, I give it a go, no matter how doomed.

"Yes, fine, you're right – I did get a little tired of being the girl with red hair in our year," I say. "But it had nothing to do with Potter."

"So what did have to do with it?" Alice must know at once.

"Nothing!" I throw my arms in the air in frustration. "Honestly, Alice, why do any of us do what we do? We don't always need a reason – sometimes, things just bloody _happen_! No explanation involved!"

"Nobody said that reason has to be logical," Alice reminds me annoyingly. "Although logic can't hurt your case."

I blow a stray strand of hair out of my face, thoroughly goaded. It's times like these when I wonder why I'm still friends with this girl. "You're wrong," I say.

"No – I'm so right that it scares you," Alice returns triumphantly, her smile a beacon for jubilant righteousness no matter how misplaced. "And you know it."

I am very tired of this conversation, but Alice's face is so keen that I can tell nothing I say is going to deter her. Sweet and innocent as she can be, she also has a stubborn streak that makes people like me – who are usually convinced we're right – want to pull our hair out altogether. I sigh.

"If it makes you happy to think that, by all means, think it," I say. "But I'm done here. Whether James Potter likes my hair or not, I am keeping it because _I _like it, which is the important thing. I don't care if he's in there and I don't care if he's in Timbuktu. I am hungry and would like some breakfast – you are welcome to join me if you so desire."

"I do so desire – I'm just saying." Alice's eyes twinkle with her familiar mischief. "C'mon though; I'm hungry too. Arguing with you takes a lot of energy out of a person, you know?"

Ho ho. Good one.

I roll my eyes and the two of us go into the hall together.

--

With Alice watching with her attention fully and utterly invested in me, I walk into the Great Hall. I don't make a big hairy deal about my entrance, coming in and sitting down at my usual part of the table, grabbing a piece of toast to start me off. Alice tries not to giggle at all the eyes in my direction as she takes her seat beside me.

"You know, this is absolutely bloody hysterical," she says. "You'd think no one's ever done anything to their bodies, the way these people look at you."

"Don't worry about it," I say. "Give it a couple of days and it'll all die down. There's nothing too earth-shattering about brown hair and they'll figure it out. Someone new will be found in a broom cupboard with someone else and that'll be the next big news."

Alice laughs at me, but her attention is elsewhere as she peers towards the door, her expression one I've learned to be wary of. She grins within a couple of seconds.

"Oi, take a look, Lily," she says. "It's Potter and his gang."

I groan openly.

"There we are," she says, her tone unbearably smug. "My test results will be in shortly."

"It doesn't matter what he says," I insist, my cheeks as red as my hair used to be. "I won't change just because _he _has an opinion."

"Maybe not – but I'm still curious."

Alice trains her eyes to the door now and I consider dumping jugs of orange juice over her head. However, before I can work out the logistics of this, James and "the gang" catch sight of me and instantly sprint to our end of the table, surprise all over their haughty, arrogant faces. I am so in for it this time; I hold my expression in utter defiance as they approach. Alice grins like an idiot.

"Merlin, Evans!" James puts his hand to his forehead, pretending to faint back in the arms of Remus Lupin, who instantly shoves his friend back to his feet. "Did someone shit on your head by mistake this morning? What happened over here?!"

I smirk and feel my cheeks continue to flame. "Stuff it, Potter," I say.

Alice all but collapses with laughter, weeping together across the table from me. Peter Pettigrew snorts from beside Remus.

"It doesn't look _bad,_" he says fairly. "But I can't deny the shade."

"The Worm has spoken," Sirius announces with an impish grin. "It's official – Evans, your hair looks like shit."

I sigh irately and set my toast back on my plate, wiping my fingers on my robes and rising to my feet, because clearly these two necessitate a proper argument to their dim-witted observations before they will leave me to finish my breakfast in peace. My hands go right to my hips.

"All right, Potter, you've got my attention," I say. "What do you and your posse want?"

"Mightn't we go now?" Remus suggests in an undertone in James's ear, as aware as the rest of us that Remus is perhaps the only one with some semblance of control over that boy. "You've made your point."

"You heard her, Moony," James responds. "We have her attention. I don't want to waste the opportunity."

Okay, so maybe not even Remus has any control this time. I groan again.

"You are a right bloody arse and you look like someone dunked your head in a cauldron full of ink and static electricity – none of us are perfect," I say. "All I want is to eat my breakfast. Leave."

"Hey, I like breakfast too." James sits down in the spot beside mine and takes a bite out of my toast. "By all means, eat."

I don't dare look back at Alice's overt amusement; instead, I glare, steely-eyed, at James. "You know, I don't particularly like sending you to the Hospital Wing when we've got a Quidditch match in a few days, but I am willing to make the sacrifice if you don't go away _right now_," I say.

"Oh, don't be a party-pooper, Evans." Sirius pulls a grin that's so evil that it startles me. "It really bumsme out."

Peter and James guffaw with laughter while Remus has to work hard to conceal a smirk of his own. Sirius and James high-five, delighted, while I whip out my wand and glare a little harder at them.

"Bugger off now, I'm done playing around," I say.

"Old Pommy won't enjoy blood in the Great Hall so early in the morning," Sirius admits. "Perhaps we ought to wait until Charms to finish this conversation."

"Works for me." James stands up and rejoins his friends. "We'll talk to you later, Evans."

"Don't you go blonde while we're gone now!" Sirius switches to his jack-o'-lantern smile.

"Leave before I decide to make you bald," I snipe. "The whole lot of you. Get away!"

"Pushy, pushy Evans." Peter makes a face. "We'll see you in Charms then."

With this, the boys depart, Remus with a very sorry expression at me that obviously begs me to overlook the immaturity of his companions. I sigh mutinously as I sit back down, glumly carving out the part of my toast that has James's bite in it and eating the rest of it. Alice has tears all the way down their cheeks with laughter.

"Oh shut up," I say crossly before she can regain enough air to say something. "I may not be in Divination right now, but I see some baldness in your near future too."

And she's laughing so hard, she doesn't bother attempting to respond. For better or worse, I consume the remainder of my breakfast in silence.

--

By lunchtime, the bumpy start to my morning has smoothed out well enough. I purposely got to Charms a little late and sweetly requested clemency from Professor Flitwick, who let it go because I'm rarely late otherwise. The Marauders were unable to harass me that period since it was a notes day and I remained safe from their scrutiny.

After Charms, I was feeling perfectly amiable again and Alice and Mary had finally moved on from the regrettable incident, allowing us to converse over more pleasing matters than the morons I am forced to spend my time with. In fact, when lunchtime rolls around, I have almost forgotten it all.

On our way to the Great Hall, the three of us are talking about Violet Bernard's lurid pink scarf when, out of the blue, I remember that I forgot my Potions essay for next period upstairs in my dormitory. I excuse myself to race up to the seventh floor in pursuit of my work; I won't have another chance to get it because Potions is downstairs in the dungeons and nowhere near Gryffindor tower. Alice and Mary are saving me a seat.

I scurry up to the portrait and give the password ("Uric the Oddball"), slipping into the common room and making a break for the stairs, when I hear a horribly familiar voice say, "Evans?"

At once, I whirl around and find none other than James Potter seated on the chair in front of the fire, parchment and a quill in his hands. My hands go right to my hips and he blinks at me in surprise.

"Merlin, Evans, stop looking so damn sexy in front of me – those curves will get you into trouble one day," he warns.

"You are a bastard," I proclaim, hostile.

"Maybe – but that doesn't make you less sexy." James winks.

"What do you want?" I shoot at him.

"I dunno – you're the one who started talking to me."

"No, _you _said my name when I came in, so forgive me if I take that to mean you wanted to say something," I snap.

"Someone's a little grumpy today," James observes.

"That's what happens when you are forced to speak with a guy who said your hair looked like shit," I say.

James grins. "That was for comedic effect, Evans."

"Do you really hate my hair that much?" I ask.

"I don't _hate _it, but I certainly don't _like _it," he responds.

"Why not?" This genuinely surprises me, gets my guard down a little. After all, everyone else has been over the moon about my new hair.

James only shrugs, nonchalant now that he knows I'm engaged in our dialogue. "It's…ineffective," he says simply.

I am suddenly reminded quite vividly of Alice last night. "What do you mean?" I ask, slightly afraid of the answer he might give me.

"Well, I can see what you're trying to accomplish with this, and it's not working," says James. "It's a noble effort, don't get me wrong, it just…falls short."

My expression is blank. I still don't get it. James sighs and sets his things aside, standing up and taking a few steps away from the fire and towards me. The boisterous arrogance he wore like a superhero cape this morning has been toned down to unspoken arrogance that radiates from him in waves, self-confidence in his eyes as he takes me in.

"Well, I mean, you took me completely for a turn there this morning when I saw you, and I think you were going for the shock effect, but otherwise, you fell flat on what you wanted to achieve," says James. "Your red hair made you special. It was fiery and beautiful and you were the only one who had it. You got a lot of attention for it, but lately, you weren't enjoying that attention. So, in a fit of restlessness, you went ahead and changed your hair in the hope that it would change the way people looked at you. Hence…the shit-hair."

I remain silent. Is Alice secretly sending him telepathy messages? Should I be worried that my best friend is a spy? I search for evidence in James's face to support my theory, but it's no use – all I see is James, and James is clearly enjoying the theory he's laying out for me.

He continues:

"I know it's weird, being different. Sometimes, it's fun. Sometimes, it's not. You and me, we're different. We're ahead of the game and we never give into mundanity – we're just not built that way. But being special, different – it's hard. There can be times when you just don't want people to be looking at you, and lately, you've been feeling like that; so you did what any person with half a brain would do. You changed your hair – 'the hair' – in the hope it would change everything and cut you a break."

My reactions are two-fold – firstly, I am astonished, because that's way too profound for him. I'm suspecting involvement from Alice and maybe Remus on this response. Secondly, I am damn indignant. How dare he suggest something like this, something I slammed Alice on yesterday and this morning? I let my hands go right back to my hips, my expression hardening.

"Since you're evidently delusional and not in the right state of mind right now, I'll say this one more time – _I didn't have some super-deep-and-involved reason for coloring my hair_," I say, slow and clear. "All I wanted was to change things up a little bit. I'm well aware that I can't change who I am by my hair-color. My hair isn't all that defines me."

"That's the point I'm trying to make," he says. "That's why I don't like your brown hair. When I see you, I don't see anyone other than Lily Evans, the stubborn redhead who won't go out with me even when I ask nicely – hence, your plan didn't work. You're not like the rest of the girls in our year. The whole thing was ineffective."

I have nothing to say to this. Absolutely nothing. I open and close my mouth like a goldfish, looking for the defiance I swear I had about a minute ago, while James just looks at me, something idiotic but almost wise about the set of his features. He's really something else.

I open my mouth and say kind of feebly, "I didn't have a plan. I just…like brown hair."

James's grin is as impish as it ever is, the wisdom evaporating and leaving only an idiot in its wake. "Okay," he says even though I can tell he doesn't believe me. "If you say so."

"I…need to go get an essay from upstairs," I finally say with an enormous swallow. "Bye, Potter."

"Bye." James retreats back to his chair and picks up his materials again, ready to work. I flee up the stairs, heart racing from the weirdness of that conversation, and I find my essay. I take my time, counting my steps and holding my breath, on my way back down to the common room, but when I get there, I find there was no need to worry.

By the time I get back and approach the portrait hole, James Potter is already gone.

--

In the evening, when classes are over and my homework is (mostly) complete and dinner's finished and we girls (i.e. Alice and I) troop up to the dormitory, the first thing I do is take my Potions book out of my bag and set it on the floor with the cauldron I stashed in my cupboard yesterday. Along with it, I take out my bags of Potion ingredients. Alice, after she's through changing for bed, looks onto my progress with interest.

"What are you up to now, Lils?" she wants to know, watching me measure out how much knotgrass I want to use.

"Just a little late-night potion-making," I say airily.

Alice finds her own Potions book in her bag and rustles through the pages until she finds the one she's looking for. I can almost hear her grin across the room.

"You're making an antidote to your hair potion, aren't you?" she asks.

"I dunno," I say. "Maybe."

"You _are_!" Alice shuts the book with a snap and rejoins me on the floor, excited. "Lily Evans, you are brewing an antidote to your hair potion so you can go back to being a redhead! Just like I kept saying you would!"

"Are you _sure _you're not in Divination?" I smirk and continue measuring, hoping that my cool aloofness will deter her from any further question.

Of course, I get no such luck.

"Lils, you know you have to talk to me about this," she says. "What brought this on? Why are you doing it? Didn't you say you wanted to have permanent brown hair? Since when did permanent mean a day?"

I sigh to myself, setting my things down and trying to think of the best way to phrase this without being weird about it. Alice waits keenly, practically breathing down my neck in anticipation.

After a moment or two of consideration, I turn my head and face her, looking her straight in the eye, dead-serious:

"Well, if I wasn't a redhead, people wouldn't have anything to blame all my irrational behavior on – and where's the fun in that?"

And Alice can only stare, half-bewildered and half-very-very-very-amused, while I merrily finish up my antidote, drinking it heartily without a toast when I'm done:

My day as a brunette has come to an end. "The Hair" is here to stay.

--

**A/N**: Review button is right down there. It's the big gray and green thing, you can't miss it – go ahead and give it a click and tell me what you thought. I'm well aware it's not my best work…but your opinions are still important to me. Cheers!


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